


shards of memories

by Daanny



Series: if we could return to the spring [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27523840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daanny/pseuds/Daanny
Summary: The only person Emet-Selch has ever had trouble with is Azem. With that person very dead, he thought he could take it easy for the rest of his time. In is free time he could maybe destroy the world a couple times, cause some rejoinings, y'know, the usual. However, things change when one of their shards appoints themself the position of his secretary.
Relationships: Azem & Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light
Series: if we could return to the spring [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895125
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> list of ocs involved in fic, you can find all of them on the Lamia server in Primal  
> Acacia Chrysotri = one of azems's shards  
> Nyxakh Nemophila = wol  
> Hecate Amaryllis = azem

The sun lazily climbs past the horizon, blossoming in a fiery glory in the night sky. Yawning, Hades lies down on the grass field and shuts his eyes tight. The sole reason he is out of the comfort of his own bed had slept in like a baby and is only just hurrying to the promised meet-up after a hurried text. By the time Azem makes their way here, the sunrise would be long past and no doubt, Hades would be the one to get an earful of complaints.

A pleasant breeze blows past, persuading the trees around to burst into a susurrating conversation. He forces his eyes open again. The blood red glow of the sun had already crept further through the sky, slowly fading into the obsidian of the night. Thought he would never admit it, perhaps it was worth waking up early for this simple sight.

Though the Amaurotine robe he donned is thick, the morning chill still has him wrapping the robe closer to his body. Without his realization, summer has once again come to an end. Soon, autumn would pass and winter be upon them. And after that, Azem would likely leave for another journey. Perhaps it’s part of growing up, but each year seems to pass faster than the last. Or perhaps it’s just him dreading the day Azem leaves again, of course, not that he would admit it.

From the edge of clearing, the crunching of grass follows quickening footsteps as the intruder of his peace barges in, undoubtedly waving both their arms hazardously. Hades pushes himself off the ground and—

_“Emet-Selch?”_

His eyes fly open. The ruby sky is no longer anywhere to be seen. Instead, grotesquely framed by long white locks of hair is the face of a ghost that has come straight out of his past to haunt him by the day. Though their lips are curled up into a sweet smile, their foot stands on top of an axe planted mere centimetres away from his right arm.

“Good morning,” their smile widens as Emet-Selch’s heartbeat quickens in a feeble attempt to hammer out a few more beats before its impeding death. Their voice is sweet, too sweet, too disgustingly sweet, but with his back flat against the tree trunk, there is nowhere to run.

“I hope you slept well. Perhaps even had a few good dreams?” with a slight tilt of their head, their smile disappears faster than Azem when hearing the word “meeting”. Their voice falls flat, not bothering to conceal the blazing vexation brewing within their eyes. “What happened to checking up on the situation in Eulmore?”

“I’m an advocate for long naps, Acacia. You should give it a try some time,” Emet-Selch stands up, and Acacia moves their axe only the slightest amount to allow him enough space to move. At full height, he all but towers over the Au Ra, but the annoyance radiating off Acacia in waves is hard to ignore, even when they’re nowhere near his eye level.

“Napping when Lahabrea has already been killed? Hilarious, whether that’s meant to be a joke or not, it’s just absolutely riveting. By all means, go ahead and tell me another one,” they say without a hint of mirth as they pull the axe from the ground and sling it behind their back. At Emet-Selch’s curious gaze, they frown. “What? Is there a problem?”

“Just wondering how you wield an axe thats almost twice your size.”

“By holding onto it,” Acacia answers in a complete deadpan voice. “Are you ready to go, or do you have more stupid questions to get out of the way first?”

Emet-Selch fixes Acacia with a contemplative look. It would be a simple snap of the fingers if he truly wished to escape from Acacia’s clutches. Being one of the Originals already gives him an advantage over any of the restored Ascians, but Acacia is another story. The restored Ascians are able to take on at least some part of their original strength. But the only thing Acacia inherited from Azem are their memories, and not a hint of their power.

That posed a huge problem for Emet-Selch, and really, only for Emet-Selch.

Of all the memories that they could have taken on, it had to be _Azem_ _’s_. And not just partially, _all of_ Azem’s memories. That in itself already makes Emet-Selch want to take another century long nap, but Acacia? For some reason Acacia has made it their duty as an Ascian to force Emet-Selch to work, and _that_ , makes Emet-Selch want to stock up for an eternity of hibernation.

Why couldn’t they have inherited Azem’s knack for procrastination? Or their lack of enthusiasm when it came to anything resembling work? Or—

“Hey,” Acacia says, their eyes narrowing. Their amber left eye the exact shade of Azem’s soul stone glows as anger overtakes annoyance, “Don’t look at me like that.”

Emet-Selch blinks out of his reverie, “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to find a hint of Azem in me. It’s not going to work,” they hiss.

Glowering them down, Emet-Selch returns the hiss, “And why should I look for a hint of Azem in you? You’re merely a shard. Do you truly think the likes of you could even start to compare to someone like Azem?”

“Then stop it,” they say, voice raised in frustration. “You’re always saying that I’m not Azem, that I could never come close to being Azem. If you know it so well, then _stop_ looking for traces of you godsdamn dead lover in me!” they take in a deep breath before continuing on. “You know what? Screw this, I’ll head to Eulmore myself. Go hibernate for the rest of your meager lifetime or whatever the fuck it is you want, I’ll continue the job you can’t be bothered to finish.”

Acacia flickers out of existence with the distinctive sound of teleportation , presumably to appear next to the Eulmorean aetheryte. Emet-Selch huffs out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair roughly in frustration.

Is that what he’s doing?

Is he so desperate he’s fallen to the likes of searching for traces of Azem in a mere shard? 

No, he can’t think about it like that. He sits down again and closes his eyes. He mustn’t bring himself to think about what he’s doing.

Because he already knows the answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Under the comforting shade of the Rak’tika Greatwoods, the ever lasting primordial Light is almost forgettable save for the annoying tingling at the back of their neck. Acacia stretches atop a tree branch, ready to take a well deserved break from Emet-Selch stalking the Warrior of Light around. If he truly deems following the great Warrior of Light around and ‘observing their actions’ a step in the Ascian’s great conquering of the worlds, then so be it. Acacia’s got better things to do than to argue a fight already lost.

They don’t have the sight to see the colour of the soul, but one look at the expression on Emet-Selch’s face and it’s evident that he’s found yet another shard of Azem. But this shard is from the source! And seven times rejoined! That’s six times more than Acacia! Hooray! And so his attention is immediately directed away from Acacia and onto Nyxakh. But to be perfectly fair, Acacia has no complaints about any of this. There’s nothing they hate more than the look in Emet-Selch’s eyes searching for something in themselves that’s not there, that could never be there. And if his attention has to be directed onto someone else? That truly, truly sucks for them.

However, something can be said for Emet-Selch’s tenacity. The fervor which he searches for Azem with is almost surreal; it just goes on and on and on. Acacia doesn’t get it, and to be perfectly honest, doesn’t want to get it. But as always, the memories swirling within their head is of another mind.

_Hurry! He should be almost home—_

Acacia’s— no, Hecate’s arms move to place a book open on their chest, as if they had merely fallen asleep while sleeping. They feel their eyes snap shut as the front door clicks open, unable to control the body they’re forced in. The memory goes dark. Acacia, however, has no choice but to continue listening.

A sigh from Hades, “On the couch again?” the weight of the book lifts from Acacia— no, Hecate’s chest. Hades sighs again before breaking into quiet grumbles, “Why am I always the one—”

His footsteps fade as he leaves the room, but grows louder again as he quickly returns. The weight of a fluffy blanket is laid carefully over their— _Hecate_ _’s_ body. And when they think all is finished and done, it’s not; a large hand lays itself gently over their head, then lifts to brush off a few stray strands of hair away from their face.

 _Ah, how do I wake up and tell him I_ _’ve been pretending when he’s…_ Hecate’s thoughts fill Acacia’s mind as warmth spreads throughout their chest. Disgusting. Acacia wishes there was a way for them to throw up, because surely that’s the only way for them to get rid of this feeling injected into themself. _Do I just_ _… do it?_

The memory flickers, and suddenly their face is in pain from laughing as Hades looks on with a frown and a telling brush across his entire face while Hythlodaeus looks on with a smile.

_I love you, Hades. I love you so—_

“NO!” a scream tears itself from Acacia’s throat as they’re thrown out of the memory. As their mind whirls in a desperate attempt to catch up with reality, they come to realize three things.

One, they’re sitting on a branch high up into the canopy of the forest, not comfortably asleep in a couch.

Two, the scream as they left the memory also had them leaning forward to bury their face in their lap and thanks to that…

Three, they lost their balance and the ground is approaching their face with each and every passing second. They could’ve forced a teleport if they had realized a few seconds ago, but they doubt they could finish casting the teleport before the ground smashes their body into smithereens. They could shield themselves with the Blackest Night, but the Dark Knight soul stone is sitting carefully placed in a drawer back at home. Warrior… Warrior…?

“Shake it off! Actually uhhhh screw that Holmgang! Holmgang Holmgang Hoooooolmgang—”

When the ground is only millimetres away from their eyes, they freeze suspended in midair. And pain, pain fills every part of their body and they screw their watering eyes shut with resolution.

“Holmgang sounded less like a skill there and more like a prayer,” Emet-Selch comments, slowly lowering Acacia’s body onto the ground. “When did you take up tree-climbing as a hobby?”

Any attempt at a retort is stifled by the pain still racking their body, and the only sound they manage to produce is a pathetic croak, “Ow.”

Following the sound of a snap, the familiar sensation of healing magic settles over their body. Slowly, they stretch out an arm, then a leg, and eventually stands up with the help of Emet-Selch’s begrudgingly offered hand.

“How did you find me?” they say, swiping a hand across their still watering eyes.

Emet-Selch lets out a long sigh before saying, “I sensed an idiot falling to their death to this direction and figured instead of rescuing the Miqo’te stuck in the Lifestream, I should get this Au Ra out of, oh, I don’t know, falling to their death first.”

“Well thank you, Hades,” Acacia says, cracking their neck absentmindedly before heading off to pick up the axe that had somehow landed a fair distance away from where Acacia was caught. Is this what they call the law of dropping your pencil and it somehow rolling across the entire classroom? “Though, you know, you could’ve slowed me down instead of stopping me there and then. Physics says I still hit the air with pretty much the same amount force I would’ve hit the ground with, and here I thought you were the brain of the group. Anyway, I do appreciate the heal.”

The expression on Emet-Selch’s face is unreadable when Acacia turns back to face him, “What did you just call me?”

“What are you—?”

 _Hades_. Acacia called him _Hades_ , not Emet-Selch. The name slipped out so naturally, as if they were no longer themself, but a mere copy of Azem. They take a step back, shaking their head.

“I— I need to go—”

“That name is not for _a mere shard_ to call,” Emet-Selch seethes. “The only thing you hold of Azem is their memories. Do not think that alone makes you Azem.”

“Do you think I want to become Azem?” Acacia asks, their voice quiet but clear.

“How would I know what you want? You come walking up to the Ascians claiming you carry Azem’s memories, and instead of going against us like Azem did, you ask to join our forces? What _do_ you want?”

“You think Hecate went against you? By refusing to be tempered by your Zodiark?”

“Zodiark was summoned to—” Hades begins, his voice heated. But he doesn’t understand. After all these years, _he still does not understand._

“I _know_ why he was summoned!” Acacia yells. “And so what? Did he become the saviour of the world? Did he manage to restore that apocalyptic world to its former glory? _Did he?_ ”

“He would’ve…. If Hydaelyn wasn’t summoned, we could have made it work!”

“By what? Sacrificing thousands, millions, billions of lives? You call that ‘making it work’?” Acacia narrows their eyes. “And you still don’t know why Hecate left the Fourteenth? Are you brain dead?”

“Huh?” confusion clouds Emet-Selch’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you should try growing a fucking brain before I spell it out for you, Hades _darling_ ,” spits Acacia moments before invoking the teleport spell and reappearing in the coziness of their shack.

Perhaps they were too harsh with Emet-Selch, but Acacia has no idea what words they can say to make him understand. They draw up a chair and dig the heels of their hand over their eyes. How can they convey Hecate’s feelings that Hecate themself could not even bring to tell Emet-Selch? How will he understand Hecate’s feelings without living the shock at the sight of Hythlodaeus hanging from the ceiling, the terror when their brother was chosen to become the Heart of Zodiark, or the absolute defeat when they were forced to fight Emet-Selch trying to bring them back to the Convocation? Or should Acacia just march up to Emet-Selch, slam down a piece of paper with the words “Hecate left the Fourteenth to protect you, because they loved you.”?

The only thing they can do is stay by their side until his demise. But _why_? Why should they stay with someone who detests their very existence, who only sees them for the trace of Hecate they contain?

Step by step, they walk over to the front door and push it open. The remnants of the village outside is still charred, burnt down to the very earth. Acacia can still feel the heat of the inferno razing through the village, can almost hear the pain in their sister’s voice as she made one last request of them.

_Acacia— go on, be free_ _… You no longer have to live for this village. Live on for me, please._

Acacia almost wants to laugh at the irony. Their sister died in hope they could live their own life, yet here they are, still firmly shackled to a memory of the past. Still, they cannot move on until they’ve tied up the loose end that is Hecate Amaryllis. However… after…

They close their eyes. After… There will be no reason for them to put off what they’ve wanted their entire life.


	3. misc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it was taken out of the later chps im currently working on but it makes me laugh so here

“You can take your lover along, if you want,” Nyxakh says to Emet-Selch, looking in Acacia’s direction. “It’ll be a party. If you don’t like coffee, I can also make some desserts or something.”  
Wait.

The gears in Acacia’s brain must have rusted over from lack of use or broken from over use or whatever the hell, because nothing the great Warrior of Light just said is making any sense. At all. Whatsoever.

“Me?” Acacia says, pointing at themselves, jaw stunned into hanging in shock. “Are you talking about me?”

“Yes…? Are— Are you not…?” Nyxakh, for their part, has the guts to look confused. “I— I’m sorry, I thought you guys were— Um— Never mind.”

“Never mind is right,” Acacia says, struggling to keep the offense out of their voice. “Let’s just— end this right here.”

“Ah, alright, of course. I understand,” Nyxakh says with an expression that says they understood nothing, nothing at all, nothing whatsoever and suddenly, Acacia wishes for the sweet embrace of death.


End file.
